


Into the Dark

by thinlizzy2



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batman: A Death in the Family, Coping With Soulmate's Death, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/pseuds/thinlizzy2
Summary: Bruce tries to deal with the loss of his soulmate and the things that he never let happen between them.





	Into the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lazare_syn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazare_syn/gifts).



The fact that the soul mark wouldn't fade made it both better and so much worse. Bruce would never ever be allowed to forget, not even for a second. And that was everything that he deserved. 

A soulmate's name was supposed to fade away once the person died. Not entirely, but enough to draw notice. The dark black lettering was meant to pale to gray, still easy to read but not as stark. It was a calming gray, they had said in all the educational films that the boys of Bruce's generation had been forced to watch at school. A peaceful gray, meant to signify a life well lived and a gentle rest. Bruce had never believed in that; he had seen death first-hand and he knew it to be far from peaceful. But if it was true then the fierce black lettering inside his wrist, stubbornly refusing to grow any lighter, made a certain kind of sense. 

Because Jason's rest would be - _must be_ \- far from peaceful. And just like his death, that was Bruce's fault too. 

An unconsummated soul bond was a painful thing. It was an open wound that would not heal, one that kept tearing a little further, a little deeper, with every rejection. It was not so bad for those who never met their soulmates. Bruce remembered the days before Jason, when the letters on his arm had represented nothing but a possibility he didn't allow himself to think about. His absence had been a dull ache, a phantom pain. But once they had met, once they had looked at each other and _known_ , once they had felt the constant awareness of the other's presence, need, and _being_ , it had turned to agony. Bruce, who had more training and skill in the art of ignoring pain than anyone else alive, had almost succumbed to it more than once. Even now, with Jason dead and gone, he could still feel the irresistible pull. And if he had suffered, what must it have been like for the boy? 

_You're torturing me!_ Jason had screamed those words at him on more than one occasion. _Why are you doing this? You want it too; you know you do. We could feel good._ And Bruce would force his hands away, telling him to use the pain in his training and work to rise above it. All the while holding himself back from the thing he wanted most in the world. 

One night, they had come closer than ever to losing control. A training hold had slid unstoppably into an embrace and then somehow they had been kissing, the action suddenly as normal and necessary as breathing. Tugging at clothes and body armor, desperate for skin, it had taken a shuddering cry from Jason to bring Bruce back to reality. Drawing back, taking refuge in his cowl, he had forced himself to stare coldly at the keening boy on the ground. 

_You should leave_ , he had said, terrified by what he had almost done. _If you aren't able to control yourself, then you'll have to leave._ And then Jason had surprised him by laughing out loud. It had been a horrible dry cackling laugh with no joy at all in it, no youth or hope. It was a laugh that reminded Bruce that, just like him, Jason had been forced to grow up far too quickly. 

It was more than just the writing on their wrists that bound them, after all. 

_I can't_ , Jason had sneered, choking out the words. _You **know** I can't._

Yes, Bruce had known. Jason could no more leave than Bruce could truly cast him away. It was both a torment and a sweet secret relief. 

Or so he had thought, until the morning came when Jason had looked at him through bloodshot eyes and Bruce was stunned by the depth of fatigue and hunger that he saw there. He had started to ask when was the last time the boy had slept, but Jason had cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

_I've figured it out_ , he had announced. _You aren’t waiting until I'm old enough. This isn't just until I prove myself or show that I can handle it. This is about the darkness that you think you see in me, isn't it? **Isn't it?**_

Bruce hadn't been able to keep himself from flinching. _The darkness_ , that was the same term he and Barbara Gordon had once used to discuss Jason. Had he somehow learned of that? Was it possible? 

Jason went on. _And that means that this is forever. Because it isn't going away, Bruce! This isn't a thing that you can train out of me or that I can wish away. It's who I am._

And then he was gone. Not right then – it had been a couple of weeks before he had run away to Ethiopia, his mother and his death. But he had been as good as gone in that moment, when he had looked at Bruce, looked inside himself, and believed he understood. 

But he had been so wrong. 

Because yes, Bruce was frightened of that deep-seated darkness that spreads its tendrils through a soul or sits in the center of a heart. But it was not Jason's darkness that scared him. 

Bruce's own demons were far more terrifying. 

He had been able, somehow, to hold the boy in check every night. His willingness, maybe even his longing to kill had been strong, but Jason had managed to rise above it every time. Bruce could feel that desire of his all along their bond; Jason's urges to break bones and tear skin and stop the ragged breaths of his enemies was all too familiar. If he had added to that with the twin hunger within himself, there may very well have been no light left at all. 

And so he had held himself back and refused. He had denied Jason the completion of their bond that he had so passionately sought; he had kept their bodies separate from each other and had denied their souls the fullness of the connection that they deserved. And now Jason was gone, and everything that Bruce was cried out for him and would continue do so until he too was dead and in the grave. As far as punishments went, it was cruel and unusual and entirely apt. The part of Bruce that lived for justice could not help but approve. 

He shut his eyes, waiting desperately for nightfall and the time when he could vanish into shadows and escape himself. But it did no good. Even then, he still saw it on his arm, that telltale scrawl that had destroyed two lives. 

**Jason Todd.**

It was still as dark as ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lazare_syn for Soul Exchange.


End file.
